Page 31 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

Most of those people didn’t have money for nice cars, and when they did, they were either smart enough to get the hell out or dumb enough to get caught up and land themselves in either jail or a casket.

Raptor had been the smart type, bought Riley this place, and gave her the life she deserved. For that, he’d earned Adrian’s permanent respect, but they all knew it cost more than a lump sum of cash. Royal Flush gave Raptor his life, and whether they wanted to admit it or not, the club would take it back one day.

He trudged up the shoveled front walk and rang the doorbell, shuffling around the porch where Riley had put out a tall ceramic pot of faux bushes with red berries. It looked good, charming.

“Aw, look what the cat dragged in,” his sister cooed as she opened the door, tone unusually nice. He narrowed his eyes but wasn’t about to point it out. Clothed in a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a Harley t-shirt, she almost looked like a normal housewife.

Almost.

He smiled, glad her eyes shone with the same fire they always had. Thick, dark chestnut hair swished down to her waist, half tied up with a black ribbon, and she rested a hand on her hip. Society may see Raptor as a rebel, but compared to Riley, he was tame.

“I’ll take my chances with the cat over you,” he replied.

“Get your ass in here. You’re letting out the hot air.” She rolled her eyes and ushered him into a cinnamon-scented entryway.

“What’s with the fancy hairdo?” he asked, bending to remove his boots. Ever since they were kids, she’d worn a messy bun or long braid—hence his first lessons as a stylist—but a ribbon would hardly have been found among her plain hair ties.

“Oh, shut it, a girl likes to look nice every now and then,” she quipped, then nodded towards his shoes. “Leave ‘em. Raptor ruins the carpet enough as is.”

He straightened, grumbling that he didn’t want to be blamed for ruining the carpets, either.

Then her arms wrapped around his waist.

…a hug?

He returned the sentiment, drawing her close. The memory of a little girl with pigtails and a toad in her hands flashed in his mind, her face splattered with dirt. He held on a little tighter, a little longer.

Back when they were kids, she’d been the one who taught him to be brave, the one who held his hand as they crossed the street and took the blame when he accidentally broke their mom’s favorite vase.

Now he had a solid inch over her, and even though Raptor would tear through any threat she faced, he would be right beside Raptor to back her up.

Younger or not, he was gonna be her big brother forever.

“Everything okay?” he asked as she let go.

She answered by punching him in the arm. Fuck, she still didn’t know how to hold back, did she?

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft,” she teased. “I had to get it out of the way, so you can’t use a bullshit excuse like I’m mean not to visit.”

“I was here at Christmas,” he complained. “Don’t tell me you want to see this ugly face more than once a month.”

She scoffed and led him past the living room into the kitchen, where a pot on the stove smelled like god had made it herself. “Yeah, you’re right. Better keep the fact we’re related on the down low. Might scare Raptor off,” she said.

He sighed, shoes squeaking as he made his way across the kitchen and helped himself to a soda. “I think that ship already sailed. By a long shot.”

After all, he had known Raptor for years before Riley stole him. Poor guy had been a goner from day one.

“He’s in the garage if you wanna chat until this is ready.” She waved toward the garage door and picked up her phone, typing as Latin pop started blasting his eardrums. “You got about half an hour.”

“Need any help?” he asked, noticing that the dark wood cabinets and granite countertop shone like new, except for one spot that was dusted with flour, scattered with several bowls and utensils. She must’ve spent all morning cleaning and the afternoon cooking.

Her hips swayed as she stirred the pot, and she had to raise her voice to talk over the music. “The kitchen is clean for once, so I’d rather you not contaminate it. Just make sure Raptor finishes up in time to eat.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, wondering what was going on.

Yesterday, Raptor sounded tense over the phone, and now hair ribbons and cleaning? Something had to be stressing them out.

FIFTEEN

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